


And For My Next Trick...

by LittleCaity



Series: The Smiths On Bannerman Road [1]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Massive Headcanon, Temporal Grace, The Noble Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleCaity/pseuds/LittleCaity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trickster’s waited centuries for a chance like this. Unfortunately for it, Time has Champions in the wings and a counter for his greatest plan that may spell redemption for the broken Doctor. </p>
<p>(AU post- 'Day of the Clown' and 'The Angels Take Manhattan'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And For My Next Trick...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the magnificent eagleoftheninth, who is my editor and go-to master of British Colloquialisms, and most importantly, a wonderful friend who helps me come up with and research all manner of evil plotbunnies. Without him, this fic would not exist.

**.oOo.**

It hurt more than losing Rose had, the first time when he’d watched, helpless, as her hands slipped and she fell. It hurt because Amy had made her choice, and she’d been more willing to trust in the intentions of the Weeping Angel than she had in his ability to get them back in one piece.

He’d known for a long time that Amy would choose Rory over him, and he’d thought he’d come to terms with that. He’d thought they’d have more _time._

HG Wells had once asked him “What is time to a time machine?” The answer was sadly still the same. A very great deal.

River had left too, off on another one of her adventures. He hadn’t asked, or even paid all that much attention if he was honest. With her, ignorance really did end up being bliss more often than not.

But none of the changed the fact that the Doctor was painfully, miserably alone. Again.

_You don’t have to be alone._ He straightened, eyes wide, looking around the console room for the source of the whisper. There was nothing, no one. Not even a speck of psychic pollen, he’d made sure of that.

_You don’t have to be alone,_ the voice repeated, and it was definitely inside his head this time. _It isn’t fair, is it? You’ve given up so much, lost so much. It’s time for your reward, don’t you think?_

“Who are you?” he demanded, his entire body tense. The voice was reminding him far too much of parts of his own psyche that he’d rather keep buried. Of the Time Lord Victorious and the Great Manipulator that had been his seventh incarnation. Ever since the minotaur, those parts of himself had been far too close to the surface.

_I bring a gift. A reward for so many years of selfless service. A life lost that can be saved. All you have to say is yes._

“Tell me who you are!” He brought his sonic screwdriver out but kept it low, not entirely sure what to do with it. Psychic energy couldn’t get into the TARDIS from the outside, not unless it was another Time Lord, and since the pollen he’d completely overhauled her defences and filters.

_The death you regretted most. The death you could have prevented and didn’t._ His vision blurred for just a moment and when it cleared the broken shards of an old star-shaped badge hung in the air in front of him. He reached out to dispel the illusion, but his hand closed around the real thing, tight enough that the sharp edges drew blood.

“Adric...” A regret held so close to his hearts, so deep down that he’d never told anyone about him because the words were like knives slicing into his chest. If he’d acted sooner, if he’d repaired the console room before the War and the Time Locks. The locks he himself had placed for the sake of the Earth and the destiny of mankind.

_Every lock has a key. I come bearing the key to the boy’s life. A reward for everything you have done. All you have to do is say yes._

And didn’t the universe owe him this? After everything he’d done, after everything he’d lost and left behind, he was owed. Payment for services rendered.

_Just say yes._

“Yes.”

**.oOo.**

He wanted to close his eyes, but when he so much as blinked the heavy plastic-metal smoke in the air went from burning his eyes to feeling like he’d had acid thrown in his face, so he kept them open. He tried to breathe shallowly, to stay calm, but for all that he looked composed on the outside, his heart was beating wildly and adrenaline was pumping through his system.

Fight or flight, the most primitive and powerful instinct, and he couldn’t do either. All he could do was stand there, Varsh’s belt clutched against his chest, and wait for the end.

It was getting hot, too hot even for him. The freighter’s hull was starting to creak and complain, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before something in the antimatter containment systems broke and the entire ship went up in a flare of white and destroyed everything in its path.

Adric had spent most of his life under the impression that he was invincible, right up until Decider Draith had died in the marshes while he watched helplessly. He’d known from the beginning that travelling with the Doctor had a real possibility of getting him killed. He’d just never expected for it to be like this. He’d never thought he’d have to stand there and watch it coming.

“I’m coming, Varsh.”

Suddenly a familiar grating roar filled his ears and his eyes went wide. The TARDIS! That meant that the Doctor had found a way to save him, right?

The howling of the TARDIS’s engines faded away, and for a horrible moment he thought the Doctor had left again before it returned three times as loud and the world around him started to filter away, overlaid with dull cream walls turned orange from the low lights and gleaming metal steps leading up to a console.

He didn’t know this ship. The Doctor’s TARDIS was all white as the mists of Alzarius, and the Master’s was as black as pitch. So he’d been picked up by a Time Lord, but it could be anyone...

“Adric!” He was almost bowled over by the force of the sudden hug, pulled close to a jacket made of rough material and a shirt that was worn and strangely pleasant-smelling, like fragrant smoke and spice and just a touch of sweat. There was only one person in this universe who would greet him with a hug like this.

“Doctor!” He coughed from the force of the cry, his throat and chest still burning and his eyes watering from the sudden change in atmosphere, but he clung to the Doctor’s clothes with all the strength he could muster. He was safe. He was _safe._

“I broke your badge,” the Doctor said after a while, but he showed no signs of wanting to let go; if anything, he pulled him a little closer. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” He really didn’t, he realised. As long as he had Varsh’s belt, he could bear to lose every other possession he’d ever had.

They stayed clinging to each other for a long time. Then the laughter started.

**.oOo.**

The Trickster couldn’t help but laugh, howling with smug mirth until tears would have been pouring down its face if only it had eyes. The great and noble Doctor, bane of a million evils, brought low by the loss of a woman.

“You’ve gotten soft in your old age, Doctor,” it spat, drawing on the energy of the broken Time Lock to punch through the TARDISs meagre defences and manifest itself fully in the console room.

“Who are you?” the Doctor demanded, stepping back to shield Adric with his body and scowling magnificently well for such a young and innocent-seeming face. Amusing how the Time Lord seemed to be growing younger and younger with each regeneration, railing against the inevitability of time in the way he knew best.

“You know me, Time Lord,” the Trickster hissed, baring its teeth and laughing when the boy squeaked and clung to the Time Lord’s coat in fear. “You have thwarted my agents time and again, you and your meddling hybrid friend who slew my creation.”

“Meddling hybr- Donna!” The look of fear on the Doctor’s face was gratifying, the realisation of what he’d done seeping through him like ink through cheap paper. “The Trickster. You’re the Trickster.”

“And you are a fool. The Doctor of old would never have fallen for such a paltry trick. The universe owes you nothing, Doctor; all your efforts are mere drops in the ocean of debt your species accumulated before the end.”

“Leave them out of this!” The Trickster just laughed and shifted from next to the console to just behind the boy, drinking in the fear that rolled off him as he squeaked and darted away with wide eyes. 

“But their return was the entire purpose of the exercise, _Time Lord_. Even now the Time Locks that hold them back are unravelling in sympathy for what you have done here. Imagine all the chaos that the release of war-sharpened Time Lords and Daleks will bring to this universe.” And it would feed on that chaos, growing stronger and stronger until even not even the vaunted war machines of Gallifrey would be able to stop it.

The Doctor went pale and pulled the boy protectively close, as if he could somehow shield him from the impending chaos of the Time War unleashed. A hopeless action, but one that amused nonetheless. His love for the boy had doomed the universe to a second Time War and he still wanted to protect the child.

“I wonder how many regenerations you’ll have to spend to seal them this time. Assuming you still have the nerve! How much closer death must seem now, _Eleventh_.” The Trickster was completely unashamed of its gloating. For all the times the Doctor and his kind and even his damnable human protégée had defeated it and driven it back, this was the perfect revenge.

The Trickster laughed, opening its mind and waiting for the chaos to come pouring in.

Nothing happened.

“What foul Time Lord sorcery is this?” it hissed, flexing its hands until its nails resembled the claws of some feral animal. “I am ready to _feed_!”

“As much as I’d love to claim credit for this...” The Doctor sidled himself and the boy over to the console, putting the body of it between them and the Trickster. “What? Someone’s put the TARDIS in a bubble of temporal grace!”

“Seriously?” The boy flipped a few switches, bringing the readings up on the console’s precarious-seeming screens. “I thought a state of temporal grace could only exist inside a TARDIS. This is impossible.”

“Stop _talking_!” The Trickster lunged at the console, murder in its intent. If it couldn’t draw on the chaos outside, then it would just create some chaos right here!

The TARDIS doors slammed open and two people in long coats and reflective glasses burst in, aiming a matching pair of strange nozzles at the Trickster.

There was a massive flare of light and the Trickster knew no more.

**.oOo.**

Adric blinked frantically, trying to clear his eyes, and rubbed them when that didn’t seem to help much. There were so many little lights dancing in front of his eyes he thought he might be in serious danger of being blinded.

“Is that a portable grace generator?” the Doctor was asking the strangers, and it was oddly reassuring to know that despite changing entirely too many times, he was still insatiably curious about everything. 

That creature had called him ‘Eleventh’. That would mean six of the Doctor’s lives had been spent between their last meeting and now. He was grateful to be alive, so grateful, but _six lives_? What had taken him so long?

Someone touched his shoulder and he jumped, able to see just enough to identify the person touching him as one of the strangers, a tall man with ginger hair and a pleasant smile. “The light wears off after a while,” he said, his voice warm and tinged with a slightly lilting accent that was surprisingly soothing. 

“It had better,” he grumbled, blinking some more. His vision was still worryingly fuzzy, but he was starting to get the light out of his system already. “Is the fuzziness normal?”

“Not really, but we’ve not actually tried that particular trick before.” The man put a hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the door, where the Doctor was trying to get the strawberry-blonde woman to hold still long enough for him to examine the equipment strapped to her back. “Diane! Could you get the med-suite up and running?”

“Eh?” The woman, presumably Diane, looked Adric over for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, see what you mean. Come on, you.” She grabbed the Doctor’s sleeve and pulled him along behind her as she left the TARDIS.

“...This explanation is going to be special.” This was hands-down one of the very strangest days he’d had since stumbling across the TARDIS. Certainly it was one of the most emotionally draining ones.

“They usually are.” The man guided him down and out the doors, and he blinked when he found himself in another TARDIS. It wasn’t like the Doctor’s, all angles and gleaming metal, but somewhat more homely, with thick carpets beneath their feet and several extremely comfortable looking chairs arranged around the central console. If it hadn’t been for the familiar background hum that settled deep in his bones, he would never have known.

He wanted to examine the console, but the woman reappeared from a corridor and took his hand gently, leading him down into a pleasantly neutral white room with a low bed, a couple of chairs and an interesting-looking control panel attached to a column in the centre of the room.

“Just lie down on the bed for a minute.” He obeyed slowly, the exhaustion of the day suddenly falling on him like a great pile of bricks the instant he was lying down. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been awake by this point. Diane poked at the panel a few times and a soft green light glowed from the walls for a couple of minutes before disappearing once more.

Diane hummed to herself a little, tapping away at the console for a few minutes while he fought off the urge to just curl up and sleep right there. Until he had some idea of what the hell was going on, he couldn’t afford to rest. It was really, really tempting, though.

“I have good news and bad news,” she said eventually, and he shot up, trying to pretend he hadn’t been halfway gone already. “The good news is that your natural healing ability will be able to take care of most of the smoke damage. Burning electrics, nasty. Don’t go running around too much for a few days.”

“You said most.” Which meant that the bad news was probably something really bad.

“Yes. Unfortunately, your healing actually caused a problem.” She turned the screen around and pointed to a specific set of readings that were nigh incomprehensible to him. “The smoke did some minor damage to your eyes, which normally wouldn’t have been an issue. Unfortunately, when we captured the Trickster in our temporal grace field, the light did some additional damage. In the hurry to counter it, you’ve wound up with a couple of small flaws in the lenses in your eyes. They’re not serious, but they are permanent.”

“Oh _rabbits_.” He really needed to learn a few good curses. He had the feeling he was going to need them.

“Good god, you are adorable!” He huffed as Diane hugged him, trying to wriggle away when she fluffed his hair. “Don’t worry, we’ve got that covered. The suite is whipping up a pair of glasses for you right now. Adaptive lenses, so you’ll never have to worry about needing a new set.”

“I’m really not sure how to feel about this.” Glasses had never been much of a thing on the Starliner – the resources for them were usually needed elsewhere – so only the most important members of the Elite had even a chance of getting any. While he’d still been there, an Elite who knew more about medicine than anyone other than Dexeter had been dropped to the lower ranks because his eyesight was going. Even after travelling with the Doctor and meeting a fair number of respected scientists and statesmen with glasses, there was that little pit of fear deep in his stomach.

The console pinged and Diane practically bounded over, hitting a few more buttons and pulling a pair of transparent-framed glasses from a drawer so well camouflaged with the lines of the pillar that he hadn’t even noticed it. She perched them on his nose and he blinked a few times in shock as everything came back into far sharper focus. If anything, his vision was a smidgen better than it had been before.

“I was right, they look perfect!” Diane pulled him onto his feet, ruffling his hair again with a smile. “Come on, I bet Grandmother and the Doctor are well into it by now. I’ve been waiting years to see this.”

“Who’s Grandmother?” he asked, scrambling to keep up as she hurried through the corridors. This TARDIS was far more comfortable than the Doctor’s, but it was definitely just as labyrinthine.

“He didn’t tell you?” The strawberry-blonde raised an eyebrow, then tapped her lips a couple of times. “Then again, he probably hasn’t had the time. It’s only been, what, an hour subjectively since he broke the Time Lock?”

“...That doesn’t sound good.” In general, if something was big enough to warrant a lock on _time_ , there was probably a very good reason for doing so.

“It’s not. The Doctor’s in a universe of trouble over this one.” Diane went from cheerful and smiling to cold as ice in short order, her eyes narrowing a little. “He’s getting reckless.”

“ _Getting_ reckless? Have you even met him? Reckless is his default state!” Even after his regeneration, his Doctor had always been running headfirst into danger.

“Well, you would know better than me.” Diane was smiling again, but it was flat and a little grim. She upped her pace, and he found himself having to trot along at quite a pace to keep up. He could see what she meant about being careful for a few days; he was already getting short of breath.

He could hear the argument before they even reached the console room, the voice of the new Doctor and an unknown woman raised loud enough that they echoed down the corridors, even if the words were garbled by distance. Diane chuckled to herself and shrugged out of her coat, revealing a plain blue shirt and black pants beneath. She dressed far more practically than any female time traveller he’d met before, and he rather approved.

“Grandmother is really pissed off this time. This could be interesting.”

They entered the console room, where the man – also sans coat now, dressed similarly to Diane but in dark reds and browns instead of blue – was sitting in one of the comfortable looking chairs with an amused look on his face. The Doctor was standing, visibly bristling, and apparently carrying out a fierce argument with the ship’s time rotor.

“You have _no_ right to interfere!” the Doctor shouted, his eyes flashing dangerously. His anger made his eyes look worryingly dark, and Adric chose one of the chairs furthest away from the Time Lord to half-collapse into.

“Oi! You’re one to talk, spaceman!” The voice was definitely coming from the console, but he felt it in his bones almost as much as he heard it. And it was deeply, deeply angry, in the way only a friend betrayed could be angry.

The Doctor recoiled, his eyes wide and his hands trembling violently. He looked afraid, and a little disgusted. “It can’t be. You _can’t_ be. Your mind would have burned!”

“It did.” The voice warmed, just a little, and it felt like there was someone else in the room with them, unseen but close and watching affectionately. “But by then the metacrisis had carried on to my children and grandchildren. They built this TARDIS from scratch, on 21st Century Earth! My kids, bless them. And when I finally broke through the locks in my mind, I changed. I became her soul.”

“What have you done?” the Doctor moaned, rubbing at his face. “Humans aren’t meant to become TARDISes! It’s dangerous even for a Time Lord!”

“That was always your problem, Doctor. The Time Lords you once idolised are long gone, the Time War killed them and turned them into something else. You never even realised what I’d become, did you? So much for being able to see all of Space and Time.” The voice laughed, gently, teasingly. “We’re their replacements.”

“Donna, stop this nonsense at once!” The Doctor wagged his finger at the console like he was scolding a misbehaving child. “You’re being completely irresponsible! Humans shouldn’t have the power of time travel, you’re not ready for it!”

“Oh, shut up, Doctor,” the man said, slowly unfolding as he stood up – he really was taller than he’d realised, taller even than the Doctor who had been _his_. “It happens. Species die out and others evolve to take their place. You should be proud, really, we’re carrying _your_ genetic imprint after all.”

“You’re not Time Lords.”

“I should bloody well hope not!” the man snapped, glaring. “Not after all the fuckups your people caused!”

“Matt, calm down.” Diane patted his shoulder gently, then turned her attention to the Doctor. “Doctor, you broke the Time Locks. We can fix them – we’re halfway done already – but you have to face the consequences for what you did. What you almost unleashed.”

“Um, excuse me?” It seemed that almost everyone else had forgotten he was there, from the way they started and stared. It was actually quite insulting. “Could someone tell me what’s going on? What did the Doctor _do_?”

The disembodied voice, Donna, hummed out a sad noise that seemed to echo right down into his bones. “You poor boy, you’ve missed so much. There was a war, a war across time and space between the Time Lords and the Daleks.”

As she spoke, he saw images in his mind, glimpses of what Donna had seen through her connection to the Vortex. Worlds wiped from history and reborn and wiped once more, races with the faintest hint of time sensitivity being hunted and turned into weapons or destroyed so utterly that they could never be recovered. They were fleeting, tiny glimpses of what had been, and even those were almost too much. 

He could feel soothing fingers trailing across his mind, removing the memories once more and leaving him only with the impression of utter horror, and he wiped violently at his eyes to hide the way they were welling with tears.

“You didn’t have to show him that!” the Doctor snapped, walking over and smoothing his hair with a gentle hand until he managed to stop making the little _not_ -sob noises that were catching in his throat. “Nobody should have to see that.”

“And you came _this_ close to letting it out, you damn fool!” Donna’s voice was so loud it hurt, and even Diane and Matt winced in unison. “If we hadn’t been tracking the Trickster and his actions for the last _three years_ the nightmares would have come back! What in the _universe_ could convince _you_ to break open a Time Lock?!”

“Because I was alone and it hurt!” The Doctor pulled him close, his hold around his arms almost painfully tight. “Every time I lose someone it _hurts_ and it offered me the chance to undo something I’ve regretted for almost six hundred years!”

_How long?! He left me there for_ how _long?!_

“Soppy old spaceman.”

“You’re one to talk, Grandmother.” The Doctor’s hold on him loosened a little, became more of a companionable arm around the shoulders than a crushing grip. It was almost brotherly, and he was reminded of how young this new version of the Doctor was. 

“Actually, try Great-Great-Great-Grandmother.” The Doctor choked and made a wild gasping noise deep in his chest. “What can I say, the imprint is clingy. My family is huge, Doctor. We may not be quite as flashy as your lot, but we’re doing pretty damn well for ourselves.”

“An entire race of Time Lords descended from Donna Noble. The universe isn’t going to know what hit it.” 

“We’re not Time Lords!” Matt looked like he’d been called something foul, and Diane sneered in unison with her... cousin? Brother? Who could tell? “We’re the Noble Family and don’t you forget it.”

“I know what you did to your children to make them Time Lords, Doctor. I will never let my family tear themselves open on the Untempered Schism. Nothing is worth that price, not even regeneration. We live long enough without it.”

“You could never live long enough, Donna Temple-Noble.”

“You’re still a flirty devil, Doctor.” And just like that Donna’s voice turned stern and cold, making the hairs on the back of Adric’s neck prick up in warning. “But you still have to face punishment for your actions.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” And oh, he could hear the cold surety of self that had led to the use of the Moment (so glad that the memories were all but gone, even the name made him sick to his stomach) in his voice. Merciless, not quite cold but stubborn to an almost insane degree.

“We already have. Your TARDIS has been restricted to Earth’s solar system, starting in October of 2008. Since you’re so fond of humans, you’re to defend the Earth for a period of at least one century.” Diane looked like she was reading from something, but her eyes were closed. “You told the Sycorax that the Earth is defended. You will see that it is true.”

“...You’re exiling me. You’re taking a cue from the _Time Lords_ and exiling me. On Earth. Again.” The Doctor burst out laughing, just a touch maniacally, his entire body shaking. “I could almost hate you.”

“No you couldn’t.” Donna was laughing softly in their heads. “You never could. Besides, I know for a fact you’re already wondering if you can call Kate Lethbridge-Stewart and get your old job back.”

“...She knows you really well, Doctor,” he said, managing a smile. Exile to Earth sounded... bad. Not just for the Doctor, but for him too. No way would he be allowed to stay with the Time Lord, he’d be sent home... And he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the Starliner.

“Now, what to do with you,” Matt said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “We could get you back to E-Space easily enough, although finding that ship of yours might be a little tricky, all things considered.”

“No!” He shook his head violently and found himself clinging tightly to the Doctor’s jacket, the thought of going back completely outstripped by the realisation that they were actually seriously thinking of doing it. “I won’t go back, I won’t!”

“Don’t even think about it,” the Doctor snarled above his head, and the crushing possessive hold was around him once more, pulling him close and all but engulfing him. He held on tight and without shame, the fear of having to go back to the Starliner and the memories that would plague him there completely overwhelming his pride.

“Always making things complicated,” Diane sighed. “You do realise that the only other options are staying with our family or being exiled with the Doctor, right? At least if we took you back you’d be with-”

“If you say ‘with my own kind,’ I’ll scream.” He didn’t have a kind. He’d never fit in, not once in his entire life. Not on the Starliner, not among the Elite, not with the Outlers. He’d come closest on the TARDIS with the Doctor and Romana and K9, and then when it was just him and his Doctor. It had been harder with Tegan and Nyssa, and when the Doctor changed, but even they actually _tried_ sometimes.

“He’s staying with me,” the Doctor snapped, “and that is _final_.” He nodded in agreement, his heart swelling with quiet joy. Even after all this time, the Doctor wanted him to stay. He hadn’t abandoned him, not by choice.

“I don’t care if I have to spend the rest of my life on Earth. I’m staying with the Doctor.”

One day he’d look back at the triumphant smirk on the Doctor’s face and wonder if that was where everything started to go wrong.


End file.
